


Read, Mark, Learn, and Inwardly Digest

by GKWriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24073087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GKWriter/pseuds/GKWriter
Summary: AU. Harry Potter begins a relationship with Padma Patil in the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament and the return of Lord Voldemort and at least one figure from the past returns to take a hand. Based on Chapter 4 of kb0's Odds and Ends.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, Padma Patil/Harry Potter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Odds and Ends](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/617752) by kb0. 



Harry was carefully watching, waiting to make his move. He really didn’t want to do this, but he felt it was the right thing to do, regardless of his feelings. If he went by his feelings, he would be back in the dormitory, curled into a ball on his bed. It had only been a couple of days since he had seen Cedric Diggory killed and Voldemort seemingly raised from the dead. But despite his feelings, he knew he had to do this now: everyone was leaving Hogwarts for the summer tomorrow.

Finally, he saw Parvati Patil get up from the table and start walking towards the doors to leave the Great Hall. Padma rose from the Ravenclaw table at approximately the same time. With a hasty ‘I’ll find you later’ to his friends, Harry also got up and hurried after the twins. It wasn’t hard to imagine that Ron and Hermione were wondering what was going on, but at the moment, all he hoped was that they weren’t going to follow him. As he reached the doors, a quick glance back into the hall showed that they were still seated.

Turning and hurrying down the corridor, Harry saw the sisters and quickly walked after them. When no one else was nearby, he called out. ‘Parvati! Padma!’

They turned as one and the instant they saw who it was, each of them gave him a cold look, one he knew that he deserved.

‘Can I please talk to you for a few minutes? I need to tell you a few things and after that, well, if you want to yell at me or slap me, then I won’t blame you and I’ll take it.’ He gave them his best pleading look and hoped they would hear him out.

They looked at each other and seemed to have a silent conversation. Finally, they turned back to him and Padma said, ‘In here, Potter.’ She led them to an old classroom that was nearby. It had tall windows and the summer evening light poured in, shining on the dusty desks and chairs. Parvati came after him and closed the door after they were in.

The two Patil sisters stood and stared at him, waiting. Harry looked at them. Besides one wearing Gryffindor robes and the other Ravenclaw robes, the differences between them were very small. Parvati’s hair had a slight curl to it; Padma’s was completely straight. Harry also thought Parvati’s eyebrows were slightly thinner. Otherwise, at first glance they were identical. As they continued to stare at him, over a few seconds, he noticed that Parvati became more agitated while Padma continued to stand completely still.

‘I, umm, I have a few things to tall you and then if you want to go off on me, I’ll understand and I won’t fight back.’

They both just blinked, still watching him and waiting.

‘Listen, I just wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier in the year, as well as give you an explanation. Padma, I’m sorry I got you involved with Ron Weasley at the Yule Ball. He was having problems with something else and should have paid more attention to you, but I’m sorry I asked Parvati to ask you to go with him.’

Padma tilted her head slightly and examined him minutely. Harry had a hard time not looking away. It seemed like a long time before she spoke.

‘While I appreciate this, why are you here apologising and not Ron?’

Harry shuffled his feet. ‘Because he, umm … he won’t think to come and do this,’ he finished lamely.

Padma nodded once. ‘I heard about his explosion at Hermione Granger after the Ball. I assume that’s what caused his inattention?’

‘I think so, although Ron never discusses his feelings.’ Harry snorted. ‘I had no idea that he had any feelings for Hermione until then. It took me completely by surprise.’

Padma smiled for the first time. ‘The fact that Weasley has any feelings for anything beyond food and Quidditch surprises most of us. I forgive you for your part, Harry. You couldn’t have known the prat was going to do that. However, I will ask that you never mention this conversation to him or prompt him in any way. While I would like an apology from him, if it happens, I want it to happen because he thinks of it himself.’

Harry nodded, happy she had accepted his apology. ‘Of course. Personally, I’d be surprised if he ever did it, but I understand you wanting it to be genuine.’

He turned a little to face Parvati. This one was going to be a lot harder despite having spent time while in the Hospital Wing thinking about what he wanted to say. He forced himself to stand up straighter. ‘Parvati, I would like to apologise to you for ruining your evening at the Yule Ball. Not that it excuses me, but I was having trouble dealing with being in the Triwizard Tournament. Now that it’s known that I really didn’t put my name in the Goblet of Fire, that might help me, but it still doesn’t excuse my ignoring you during much of the Yule Ball and being a bad date. Please accept my deepest apologies for my inattention and general prattishness. If I knew of a way to make it up to you, I would.’

Parvati’s gaze was still very cool. He found her scrutiny harder to endure than Padma’s. Then again, his guilt had been minimal with Padma, while he was directly responsible for Parvati’s woes. Tears welled up in Parvati’s eyes. Harry wanted very much to look away, but forced himself not to.

‘I was so happy to be asked by you and you took that away from me,’ she said more than a little fiercely.

Harry saw the movement out of the corner of his eye, but he made himself stand stock still as her hand swung around and slapped his face. As he slowly turned back to her, his cheek burning, he saw a look of surprise on Padma’s face. Apparently she was as surprised at the depth of Parvati’s hurt as he was. He continued to silently wait.

She pulled a corner of her robes up and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ she told him. ‘I’ve been holding that in for so long.’ She sighed and stole a glance at her sister before turning back to him. ‘I’ll forgive you if you do one thing for me.’

Hoping the price wouldn’t be too high, Harry said, ‘Name it.’ He was glad his voice hadn’t squeaked or otherwise betrayed his fear of what she might ask.

‘Kiss me. Kiss me like you would have at the end of the date. Kiss me like you really mean it,’ she demanded.

Harry blinked for a moment, stunned at her demand. It wasn’t overly hard, in and of itself, but he had never really kissed a girl before. He wasn’t sure he could kiss her ‘like he really meant it’. That gave him some cause for panic.

A snigger caught his attention and he turned to look at Padma. She had a full grin on her face. ‘The great Harry Potter, panicked by the thought of having to kiss a girl.’ She shook her head before she looked at her sister. ‘Parv, you could have asked for so much more, and you ask for a kiss?’

‘Well, the date didn’t go well – he owes me a good ending,’ Parvati defended her decision.

Padma shrugged, although her amusement was still obvious.

Harry thought that Padma looked very pretty that way. He had always thought both twins were pretty, but now Padma seemed to change in front of his eyes into beautiful. That realisation surprised him.

‘Well, Harry?’

Parvati’s question pulled Harry back to the present. He looked at her and nodded. ‘If you want me to. Now?’ He wasn’t sure about kissing her in front of her sister, but if that was what she wanted, he would do it.

She nodded and relaxed her stance slightly, arms hanging at her sides.

Not totally sure what to do, Harry screwed up his courage and walked up to her, standing toe to toe with his fellow Gryffindor. As he started to lean forward, Parvati took a step back and exclaimed, ‘What are you doing? You’re supposed to kiss me like you really mean it, not like you’d kiss Granger!’

He had no idea what she was talking about. ‘What do you mean?’

Parvati looked disappointed in him, but Padma saved him. ‘Parv, I don’t think he’s ever really kissed a girl before.’ There was amusement in her voice.

‘I hadn’t heard of anyone kissing him, but I thought surely…’ Parvati looked at him with a little amusement of her own before a full smirk broke out on her face. ‘So I get to be the first to really kiss you?’

He wasn’t sure what to say or do. He didn’t want to look weak and admit it, but it was the truth. Harry slowly and reluctantly nodded.

‘Well, I suppose being the first to kiss you does make up for it.’ Parvati walked up to him and stood with her feet between his and pressed her body to his as she lifted her arms and put them around his neck. ‘Put your arms around me and hold me tightly, but don’t crush me.’

Harry was wondering how she knew about all of this, since she was just finishing fourth year, like he was. Deciding that he might as well be in for a Galleon as a Knut, he put his arms around her. One hand went on the small of her back and the other a little higher.

‘Perfect,’ she said in a soft voice that was almost a purr. ‘Now tilt your head a little to the right and do everything I do.’

Harry did his best to match her, movement for movement. Her lips were soft. He suddenly felt her tongue touch his lips and he was so surprised he opened his mouth slightly. A moment later, he was glad he had and again tried to match her this way too. The minute they spent kissing was incredible, brilliant, spectacular and every other superlative he could think of.

Eventually, Parvati pulled back a few inches and smiled. ‘That’s how you kiss a girl, Harry.’ Still holding on to his neck, she twisted slightly and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You’re forgiven.’ With the smile still on her face, she let go and left, gliding out of the room.

Harry licked his lips with the tip of his tongue as he stared after her.

A chuckle broke him out of his thoughts. He had totally forgotten about Padma. He felt his face grow hot as he looked away. No matter what he did, he could not keep the smile off of his face. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

‘For what, Harry?’ Padma stepped over so she was in front of him, just out of arm’s reach.

‘I, umm, I wasn’t trying to take advantage of your sister or anything…’

Padma’s laughter filled the room.

Harry watched her and again noticed how pretty she was. They were practically identical, and yet, there was something about Padma that rang more true to him.

‘If anything, it seems to me that my sister was trying to take advantage of you, but you seem to have turned the tables on her. Thank you, Harry. You can never have too much information to blackmail your siblings with. That will give me much to tease her with, and the fact that you did it even when you were initially uncomfortable shows me you really were honest about your apologies.’

He carefully looked at her face, the evening light from the windows warming her brown skin and her smile. ‘I think I owe you one more apology,’ he said softly, surprising himself for saying what he was thinking.

‘Oh?’ Padma looked intrigued.

Now what? he asked himself. Since she was waiting, he had no choice but to go ahead. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to the Ball. I think I asked the wrong sister.’

Her eyebrows went up and she coloured slightly. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘I think you’re prettier.’

‘But we’re identical.’ She looked puzzled.

‘Not really. If you dressed just alike, it might take a moment to tell you part, but you are different and I would be able to tell.’ He worked up his courage again, and hoped she took this the right way. ‘Parvati’s nice, but I’ve always liked girls who are smart.’

Padma looked amused. ‘Then why didn’t you take Granger to the Ball?’

Harry couldn’t stop the snort. ‘Not likely. She’s my best friend, but it would be like taking a sister. I’m not an inbred git like Malfoy.’

She laughed. ‘No, no, you’re not.’ She studied him for a moment. ‘That’s why you tried to ask Cho, wasn’t it?’ In a very Parvati-like move, Padma flicked her hair back over one shoulder and took half a step forward. 

Harry’s heart was starting to race. All he could do was nod, especially when she licked her lips, the tip of her tongue barely showing.

When she took the other half step forward after a brief moment, his hands seemed to have a mind of their own and wrapped themselves around her. A moment more and she was leaning forward.

Kissing Padma was sort of like kissing Parvati, but where Parvati was more aggressive, Padma was patient. Harry enjoyed the relaxing and yet passionate kiss. When they broke, she leaned her forehead on his. He would have gone cross-eyed trying to see her, so he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of her closeness.

‘I know why she was gliding now,’ Padma sighed.

He revelled in her warm breath across his face, as he did in feeling her body pressed to him. This was a feeling that he had been missing all of his life. This would be his new memory for a Patronus.

‘Harry?’ she whispered.

‘Hmm?’

‘Since it’s summer, how about we write to each other and really get to know one another over the holiday? I think we should take things slowly.’

Harry felt like his head was filled with treacle, thoughts moving slowly as his senses were still overwhelmed by holding and kissing this pretty girl. ‘Er, OK. I think I’d like that,’ he finally said.

‘I need to go and pack. I know you’ll sit with your friends tomorrow, but perhaps we can talk for a few minutes on the train?’

‘Sure,’ he told her, willing to promise almost anything at the moment. Her holding him even kept his sorrow about Cedric at bay. ‘What about your sister?’

Padma gave him a soft kiss on the lips before pulling back. ‘Don’t worry about her. I’ll talk to her and I’m sure she’ll be happy for me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Harry.’

He gave her a crooked smile, causing her to flash him a big grin before gliding out herself. It took him a moment, but Harry finally regained control over his body and he walked back to the Tower to pack as well.

When he walked into the common room, he was glad that Parvati wasn’t there. He was sure his look would give away what happened between him and Padma, and he didn’t want to come between the sisters.

‘Harry, where’ve you been?’ Ron called out.

He looked over and saw Ron at a table in front of the chess board. He didn’t see Hermione around, which was probably good, as she’d question him right now. He was sure his pleasure was still pasted on his face.

‘Just been talking to a friend. I’ve got to go and pack,’ Harry quickly said, so he didn’t have to stay around. Without waiting for an answer, he jogged up the stairs to the dormitory. One thing seemed certain to him: whatever else happened over the summer, he was going to be thinking about Padma a lot.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fourth Year ends and the summer holidays begin.

It was the end of the summer term at Hogwarts and Harry stood with Ron and Hermione in the middle of a crowd of other students in the castle’s Entrance Hall – most of whom were awkwardly avoiding making eye contact with him – waiting for the carriages that would come and take them to Hogsmeade station to catch the Hogwarts Express back to London. He was surreptitiously trying to look for Padma and Parvati but it was difficult to pick out individuals in the crowd of Fourth Years. 

‘’Arry!’ Harry looked up and saw Fleur coming up the steps into the castle from the grounds. Beyond, he could see Hagrid and Madame Maxime harnessing two of the giant horses to the Beauxbatons carriage. ‘I just wanted to say adieu. I ’ope we will see each uzzer again soon, as I am ’oping to get a job ’ere to improve my Eenglish. But until zat ’appens, I ’ope we can keep in touch.’

‘Yeah, absolutely,’ said Harry. They briefly shook hands and Fleur gave him a brief kiss on the cheek before she turned to go back down the stairs.

Then Krum came to say goodbye to Hermione. ‘Could I have a vord?’ He drew her away to one side and they spoke privately for a few minutes. Ron craned his neck trying to see what they were doing but when they came back, Hermione’s expression was unreadable. Then Krum turned to Harry and said abruptly, ‘Diggory vos alvays polite to me. Alvays. I liked him.’ There was a moment of silence and then Krum said, ‘Ve must keep in touch.’

‘Yeah, okay,’ Harry said, and he and Krum shook hands. Hermione smiled at them both.

Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a carriage down to the station and Ron spent the journey trying to ask Hermione what she had talked about with Krum but she refused to say anything. Eventually, in exasperation Hermione decided to try and change the subject and turned to Harry. ‘Where did you disappear off to the other night after dinner?’

‘Oh, just saying goodbye to a friend,’ Harry said casually.

‘Hmmm,’ was all Hermione said in response.

***

It was gloriously bright and sunny outside the train as the Hogwarts Express made its way south. Harry, Ron and Hermione talked freely, until Padma came to speak to Harry. They were in the middle of talking about the Death Eaters when there was a knock at the door.

Hermione looked up at the door and then round at Ron and Harry before saying, ‘Come in.’ The door to the compartment slid open to reveal Padma standing in the doorway. When she saw who it was, Hermione’s face took on that expression that Harry recognised as putting two and two together.

‘Can we help you?’ Ron asked, rather rudely. 

‘Ronald!’ Hermione hissed at him. If Harry was any judge, going by his wince, Hermione had also elbowed Ron quite hard in the ribs.

‘I just wanted a word with Harry,’ Padma told Ron coldly. ‘Nothing to do with you.’

‘What? Why? Have you ever actually spoken to Harry before?’ Ron now sounded very suspicious, as though he thought that Padma was planning to hand Harry over to the Death Eaters.

‘For your information, Weasley…’ Padma began in an icy voice, but Hermione intervened to end the conversation.

‘Let’s go and stretch our legs, Ron,’ Hermione said quickly, pulling Ron up off his seat and out of the compartment.

The sound of Ron complaining grew fainter as Hermione shut the compartment door behind her and they moved away down the corridor. Padma turned to Harry. ‘So,’ she said brightly, ‘how are you? Looking forward to the holidays?’

For a brief moment, Harry considered just giving Padma some platitude but then remembered what she had said about really getting to know each other and said, ‘Well, not really. I live with my muggle aunt and uncle and we don’t really get on.’

Padma’s face fell. ‘Oh, no. Really? Although I seem to remember hearing something about that a few years ago.’

Harry had a sudden memory of Ernie Macmillan in the Library back in Second Year, when the rumours about him being the Heir of Slytherin were starting, saying, ‘I’ve heard you hate those Muggles you live with!’

‘Are you going to be up to much over the holidays?’ Harry asked, hoping to change the subject.

‘We’re going to be going on holiday to France,’ Padma told him. ‘Parvati, Mum and I for sure, Dad if he can get the time off work.’

‘What does your dad do?’

‘He’s a barrister, so he’s pretty much always got lots of work to do.’

‘It’s got to be more exciting than working for a company that makes drills, like my uncle does.’ As soon as he said this, Harry was thinking _What am I doing, talking about Uncle Vernon?_ But Padma laughed and he felt relieved. ‘What do you think you’re going to do in the meantime?’

‘Holiday homework, of course,’ Padma said. ‘And some reading ahead for next year. But I also want to read some novels and go swimming.’

‘I wish I could go swimming,’ said Harry wistfully. The Dursleys had sometimes taken Dudley to the local pool before he lost interest in swimming, but Harry had never been allowed to go.

‘Your relatives sound like a pretty mean bunch,’ said Padma, her eyes narrowed.

‘Yeah, well, they’re apparently all I’ve got, which is why Dumbledore insists that I have to go back to them. I’d much rather go to Ron’s house for the summer, or anywhere else for that matter.’

From further along the corridor, Harry could hear the sound of Ron’s voice getting closer. Padma apparently could hear it too because she leaned in close to Harry and they kissed. When they broke apart, Padma said, ‘I’m looking forward to finding out what more there is to you than your relatives. So be sure and write lots of letters.’

‘Okay,’ was all that Harry had the chance to say before Ron opened the door of the compartment, Hermione trailing behind him, looking irritable.

‘Well, have a good summer,’ Padma told Harry. ‘And remember what I told you. I’ll see you in September.’ She turned to Hermione. ‘Have a good summer, Granger.’

‘Thanks,’ said Hermione. ‘You too.’

Then Padma turned to Ron. ‘Weasley,’ she said coldly. Then she turned and walked away down the corridor.

‘Bye,’ said Harry and he stood and watched her until she disappeared into the next carriage. He turned to find Hermione giving him a sympathetic look. ‘What?’ he asked her, but Hermione just smiled at him.

‘What was all that about?’ Ron asked, throwing himself back into his seat. ‘I didn’t think Padma or Parvati were speaking to us after the Yule Ball.’

‘I can’t imagine why that would be,’ Hermione muttered.

‘They both seemed perfectly happy to talk to me,’ said Harry. ‘Anyway, Ron, what were you saying about Malfoy?’

With the exception of a visit from Draco Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, the rest of the train journey was perfectly cheerful and uneventful.

***

After speaking with Harry, Padma went back to the compartment that she was sharing with Morag MacDougall and Daphne Greengrass. As she opened the door, Daphne and Morag were poring over a copy of Teen Witch Weekly but Daphne looked up and asked, ‘So, how did it go?’

‘Oh, fine,’ said Padma, sitting down opposite the others. ‘Weasley was an arse, though.’

‘So, what else is new?’ Daphne sounded bored but there was a smile playing on her lips.

‘Tell me about it.’ Padma rooted around in her bag and then pulled out a packet of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. 

‘You’re going to have to open the window if you want to chew that stuff,’ Daphne said in a languid tone. Padma popped a piece of gum in her mouth and then got up and opened the window. ‘How was Potter?’

‘Harry? Oh, fine. Though I don’t like the sound of those Muggle relatives of his. We’re going to keep in touch by post over the summer.’ She frowned as she chewed her gum and then said, ‘He doesn’t seem to talk much about himself. Or not to me, anyway. So hopefully he’ll open up a bit on parchment.’

‘You’ve got all summer to work your charms on him,’ said Morag with a grin as Padma began to blow blue bubbles that floated through the compartment before drifting out of the window. ‘I’m sure you’ll get him to open up.’

‘I hope so. He’s definitely got boyfriend potential. Plus,’ Padma added with a grin of her own, ‘he’s a pretty fantastic kisser!’

***

When the Hogwarts Express arrived at King’s Cross, Harry found Uncle Vernon waiting for him on the other side of the barrier to the Muggle world. He said goodbye to Hermione and the Weasleys, while Uncle Vernon tapped his foot impatiently and checked his watch. Then, Harry silently followed Uncle Vernon out to where the Dursleys’ car was parked. Uncle Vernon got in and then opened the boot and waited while Harry wrestled his trunk into the boot and then put Hedwig in the back in her cage. Once Harry got in the car as well, Uncle Vernon barely waited for him to close the door before starting the engine and pulling out into the busy London traffic. 

They were stuck on Waterloo Bridge before Vernon said a single word to his nephew. ‘I don’t know when your lot will be coming to fetch you,’ he announced, not looking at Harry but instead keeping his gaze focussed on the tail lights of the car in front of him, ‘but I won’t have a repeat of what happened last summer. I won’t tolerate it!’

‘Okay, I’ll let them know,’ Harry said shortly. 

‘Too right you will,’ Vernon said fiercely. ‘And another thing. The less your aunt and I see of you over the holiday, the happier we’ll be.’

‘Suits me.’ It wasn’t as though Harry had been planning to spend much time with his aunt, uncle and cousin anyway. ‘Though it’ll be easier for me to keep myself to myself if I’ve got Hedwig and my school stuff in my room,’ Harry added, giving his uncle a sidelong look to gauge his reaction to this proposal.

‘Are you still in touch with your godfather?’ Vernon asked the question with a note of panic in his voice. Giving up on just staring straight ahead, he had turned to look at his nephew.

‘Yes, I am,’ Harry told him, not at all surprised to be asked this. ‘He’d probably be quite concerned if he didn’t hear from me over the summer.’ He enjoyed watching the emotions play across his uncle’s face as Vernon imagined opening the door to find Sirius Black standing there.

‘I suppose your room is as good a place as any to store that bloody trunk,’ said Vernon, in an attempt to sound magnanimous but still with that note of panic in his voice. ‘And you can keep the owl there too. But mind you,’ he added, ‘I’d better not hear any noise.’ 

Since Harry intended to have Hedwig out most of the time, carrying messages to and from Padma Patil, Ron, Hermione and Sirius, this didn’t seem like it would be too much of a problem. 

It was a beautiful summer’s evening by the time the car pulled into the driveway of No. 4 Privet Drive. Left alone again to wrestle with his trunk and Hedwig as Uncle Vernon just opened the boot and went inside the house, Harry was reminded how much warmer it was in Surrey than in Scotland as beads of sweat formed on his brow. But eventually he got everything up into his room, dug some parchment and a quill out of his trunk and scrawled a quick note to send to Padma: ‘Hi – just arrived back at the Dursleys’ house. Hope all is well with you!’

He strapped it to Hedwig’s leg and watched as she soared out of the window and away, ghostlike, into the dusk.

***

Padma was just settling into her room at home, unpacking her clothes from her school trunk and putting them away in the wardrobe. It felt good to be home, especially since her mum had made one of their favourite meals – aloo mutter with chappattis. It was so good to have something different to the food the Hogwarts kitchens served.

She had just got to her books, lining them up on her desk, when she heard a noise at the window and looked up to see a beautiful snowy owl perched outside. She quickly went over and opened the window. The bird hopped inside and offered her its leg. She quickly untied the message, then gently stroked the owl’s feathers and said, ‘I’m not sure if I’ve got any owl treats for you, I’m afraid.’

The owl just hooted. Padma quickly opened the message and read it. When she saw it was from Harry, she smiled. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time in writing to her, even if it was just to confirm that he had arrived safely. His handwriting was absolutely terrible, though – she was going to have to find a delicate way to hint that Harry needed to work on his handwriting if she wasn’t going to miss things. As she read the message, Padma frowned at the mention of Harry’s relatives, who he made sound as though they were not related to him at all.

Without knocking, Parvati came in. ‘Hey Pads,’ she announced. Then she caught sight of the owl sitting on her sister’s bedroom windowsill. ‘Oh, I’ve always loved Hedwig. She’s so beautiful! And I’m glad to see that she’s here so soon,’ she added with a wicked grin.

‘Oh, is that your name?’ Padma asked, turning to Hedwig and ignoring her sister’s teasing. ‘She’s right, you are beautiful.’ Hedwig preened her feathers proudly. ‘Can you wait until I write a reply?’

Hedwig gave a gentle hoot and put her head under her wing to rest. Padma smiled, went to her trunk and took out a quill, an ink bottle and some parchment and began to write.

‘You’re clearly busy. I’ll come back later.’ Parvati was still grinning turned and left; as she went, her sister waved her hand in farewell but continued writing.

Padma had been thinking about what sort of things she’d want to ask Harry Potter. Parvati had said that he seemed quite private and mostly just spent his time with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He’d also apparently made a point of staying clear of the press ever since the interview that he’d done with Rita Skeeter for the Prophet at the start of the Triwizard Tournament.

So Padma knew that she would have to start slowly and not delve too deep too soon. _Well, that shouldn’t be too difficult_ , she thought. _I don’t think I actually know anything about him, apart from Quidditch and the thing with You-Know-Who when he was a baby._ She decided to start with asking about his birthday – thanks to Parvati being in Divination with him, she knew it was July but not exactly when – and what his favourite present had been last time around.

When she was finished, Padma went over to Hedwig and tied the message to her leg. After Hedwig took off, Padma went to the window and watched as she flew away. She’d always loved post owls – the arrival of the post in the morning was one of her favourite parts of life at Hogwarts.

***

It was an early summer morning in the village of Little Hangleton. An old man was out walking his dog. David Hinton had long since retired but still got up early because it was his favourite time of day, especially in the summer. He walked down the lane that led from the High Street to the church, which stood on the edge of the village. There was a path that turned off from the lane just before the church that he particularly liked to take; it skirted around the churchyard and then went out into the fields and was particularly lovely first thing on a summer morning. 

David passed the Old Rectory and then crossed to the other side of the lane, aiming for the wooden signpost that marked the path. He took his time clambering over the stile and then followed the path around the churchyard. He was just waiting for his terrier to finish sniffing around the base of a large horse chestnut tree when he thought he saw something moving in the churchyard. 

He moved closer to the fence and watched carefully. Apparently, not long ago there had been a very unpleasant piece of vandalism at the grave of Tom Riddle. He wasn’t old enough to remember Tom Riddle himself but had heard a great many stories, none of which reflected well on the man. But even if they were all true, it still didn’t justify trying to disturb his grave.

David peered around the graveyard again. If there was anyone poking around who shouldn’t be, he decided, he would call the police.

But apparently nobody was. There seemed to be no sign that anyone was there. Putting it down to a figment of his imagination, and feeling quite relieved to do so, David called his dog to heel – ‘Come on, Jack! – and headed out into the fields.

From the shadows of the churchyard’s ancient yew tree, a figure watched the old man call his dog and leave. Someone giving this figure a casual look would have called him old – he had a lined face and white hair. But there was something about his eyes that gave the impression that he was a great deal older than he looked. But despite his age, he was still spry. When he had realised that someone might see him, he had quickly moved into the cover of the tree’s shade. Now, he emerged just as quickly and resumed examining the ground around the grave of Tom Riddle.

At first he just ran his hands over the disturbed soil by the headstone itself; he also knelt down and looked closely at some marks on the ground where some sort of liquid might have spilled on the close-trimmed grass. Then he took out a wand and began to examine the wider area.

Eventually, he seemed satisfied with what he had found. He walked back under the shade of the yew tree, stood looking out at the graveyard for a few minutes and then almost silently disappeared.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sirius has a surprising conversation at Grimmauld Place.

It felt very strange to Sirius Black to be back in Grimmauld Place: he hadn’t set in foot in the house since the age of sixteen, after all. He had prepared himself for how dirty and dusty it was likely to be but had not anticipated his mother’s _bloody_ portrait. Nor had he anticipated how full of ghosts the house would be for him: his parents and brother, of course, but also his grandfather, aunts, uncles, cousins. It always felt as though he had just seen someone out of the corner of his eye: his mother in the Drawing Room, his father in the Study or the Library, his brother on the top floor, any number of others in the formal Dining Room, where his parents had hosted so many of the parties that Sirius had found so dull.

The one positive thing that was to be said about the place so far as Sirius was concerned was that his father and grandfather had left it incredibly well protected, which was why he had offered it to Professor Dumbledore as the headquarters for the resurrected Order of the Phoenix.

He kept shifting from side to side on the pile of blankets that he had put together to sleep on, trying to get comfortable enough to drop off. He had considered using his childhood bedroom on the top floor, but one look convinced him that there were more memories in the room than would be conducive to a good night’s sleep. Instead, he had bedded down on the floor of his father’s study. It was one of the few rooms that the house-elf Kreacher had kept in reasonably good condition, presumably out of reverence for the memory of Orion Black – if one did not look too closely, that was. He had also hoped that he would be able to sleep on the sofa, which would be reasonably comfortable, but it so desperately needed cleaning that when he sat down on it, a cloud of dust came out that left his coughing, so he had settled down on the floor instead.

And sleep still eluded him. He lay on his pile of blankets, staring up at the shadowy ceiling. From outside, the orange glow of the streetlights came in through the windows.

Despite it being August outside – long, hot, sunny days – inside Grimmauld Place there was a damp, sepulchral chill. Sirius could feel it working its way into his bones, like on Azkaban. The thought of the island prison made him shudder and he decided to get up – maybe go down to the kitchen and make some tea and do the crossword if anyone had left a copy of the Daily Prophet around. Thanks to the indomitable Molly Weasley, the kitchen was a more hospitable and welcoming space than anywhere else in the dilapidated house and Uncle Alphard teaching how to solve cryptic crossword clues was one of Sirius’s happier childhood memories of Grimmauld Place.

He was walking across the first floor landing towards the staircase when he heard the voice call out. ‘Who’s that, wandering around at this hour?’ It was a very self-satisfied voice and Sirius inwardly groaned as he recognised Phineas Nigellus – one of his least favourite of his many relatives and ancestors.

He raised his wand in the direction of the voice and muttered ‘Lumos!’ A beam of bright light shot out of the end of the wand and he passed it over the paintings hanging on the walls. When he found the one where Phineas Nigellus was lounging – a landscape of somewhere in Greece, Sirius thought – his great-great-grandfather covered his eyes with his hands.

‘Oh, now, really!’ Phineas complained. ‘Is that necessary?’

‘Sorry,’ said Sirius, not really meaning it, and lowered his wand. From one of the bedrooms came the sound of someone stirring in their sleep – one of the girls. Hermione Granger had arrived not long before and was sharing a room with Ginny Weasley.

‘Well, well – what’s my great-great-grandson doing wandering around in the darkness?’ Phineas had crossed his arms and was leaning against one of the columns in the painting, apparently at his ease.

‘Can’t sleep,’ said Sirius shortly. The last thing he wanted was a conversation with the snide portrait. It would almost certainly leave him infuriated (as most conversations with his relatives did) and even less able to sleep.

‘Well clearly,’ Phineas said languidly. ‘And since you can’t sleep, are you just going to wander the corridors?’

‘Actually, no,’ Sirius told him. ‘I was going to the kitchen. Get a cup of tea or something.’ 

Sirius turned away from the painting and began walking down the stairs. He’d had enough of Phineas for one evening and was trying to end the conversation as soon as he could. But the portrait did not seem to have finished with him. Phineas reappeared in the hallway and then followed Sirius down into the kitchen. When they reached the kitchen, Phineas sat in a landscape painting that someone had brought down from elsewhere in the house for some reason – possibly a well-meaning but failed attempt to cheer the room up. He carefully brushed down a rock in the foreground and then sat and watched as Sirius relit the fire, hung the kettle over it to boil and took out the tea caddy from the pantry.

When Sirius had finished, he sat down at the table – with his back pointedly to the painting – and Phineas spoke again. ‘What is it exactly that you think you’re doing here?’

‘I told you,’ Sirius said. ‘I couldn’t sleep and I thought I’d come down for a cuppa.’ He picked up a copy of the Prophet that had been left on the table and turned to the crossword.

‘Must you use such infra dig vocabulary? And in any case, that isn’t what I meant. I was wondering, why are you in this house?’

Against his better inclinations, Sirius craned his head around to look at Phineas Nigellus. ‘I’m surprised you have to ask,’ he said caustically. ‘I would have thought, with your portrait on Dumbledore’s office wall, you’d know better than I do what’s going on.’

‘I don’t mean the war Dumbledore and the rest of his little band are waging against the Dark Lord. I mean you particularly. Why are you here? Because unless I am _very_ much mistaken, you once said that you would never set foot in this house ever again. I remember it distinctly because you shouted the words so loudly that I could hear you from the other end of the house.’

Sirius scowled. ‘Yes, well, circumstances change, don’t they? And I’m here, since you ask, because I want to work together for the common good. _Not_ something an old Slytherin would know much about.’ The kettle began to whistle and Sirius took it carefully from where it was hanging and poured water into the teapot.

‘Again, you misunderstand my question,’ Phineas told him. ‘Why set up your little encampment here? There must be any number of other places in London that you could use.’

Sirius snorted. ‘Not with the security that this place has. That’s why I offered Dumbledore the use of it, not because it’s a charming family residence. You’d have to ask him if you want to know why he accepted.’

‘Are you sure that’s the only reason?’ There was a subtle inflexion to the question that made Sirius crane his neck around again to look at the painting.

‘What in Godric’s name are you going on about?’

Phineas gave a sly little smile. ‘Are you or are you not a member of the Black family? The last of the Blacks, in fact?’

‘Reluctantly, yes.’ Sirius scowled.

‘Well, then, I’m not surprised that you felt the call,’ Phineas said simply.

‘The _call?_ What are you talking about?’

‘Didn’t you listen to anything that your parents told you when you were growing up?’

‘As little as possible.’

‘If you _had_ listened, you would understand that the house where your family have lived for centuries, which is soaked in the magic of your ancestors, would have an attraction for you. If anything, I’m surprised you didn’t come back sooner after you escaped from prison.’

‘What utter tosh! You know I was disowned. By my darling mother.’ 

‘In the first place, being disowned does not make the _least_ bit of difference to the fact that you were born the eldest son of the eldest son of the eldest son of the primary line of the Black family. _That_ is what is _relevant_ here. And second,’ and here Phineas allowed himself to smirk, ‘your mother burned you off the family tapestry, yes. But I think you may find, if you consult the relevant documents, that that doesn’t count as actual disownment. Legally speaking.’

‘What _are_ you talking about? The house?’ Sirius glared at Phineas. ‘You know as well as I do that there’s no-one else in the direct line to inherit it since Regulus died and _that_ is the only reason why I’m here.’

‘That is not what I mean _at all_ ,’ said Phineas silkily. ‘Yes, the house has traditionally passed down through the senior line of the family, which is why you and your _unfortunate_ choice in friends are currently in occupation. What I was referring to is the rest – the entail.’

‘What?’ Sirius was too surprised by this to take offence at his ancestor’s dig at Remus and the Weasleys and the other Order members who came and went from Grimmauld Place.

‘Dear Salazar! Apparently, you did not listen to _one single word_ of what _anyone_ tried to teach you, not just your poor mother and father. Do you have any idea how complicated it is to undo a centuries-old magical entail? I don’t wonder that your parents didn’t exactly relish the task after you left.’

There was a moment as Sirius digested that little piece of news. If Phineas was correct, he had inherited control of not just the house but the whole Black family estate – property, assets, gold, the lot. ‘Well,’ he said eventually, ‘it’s not like it matters that much anyway. Because the chances of me becoming head of the family, like dad and grandad, are absolutely zero.’

Phineas raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Do you know, I’ve always wondered why you rejected your family so thoroughly.’

‘ _Because_ ,’ Sirius said, caustically, ‘I’m not interested in becoming a Slytherin pureblood obsessive, like the rest of the family. It was obvious to me long before my sixteenth birthday that I was never going to fit in.’

‘I don’t see why that would be. In many respects you are the very definition of a member of the Black family…’

‘What complete and utter tosh!’ Sirius cut in with his opinion on what Phineas was saying but his ancestor continued, undeterred.

‘You were always magically powerful; you were always clever – _too_ clever, some might say. And if you bothered to dress like a respectable member of magical society, no-one would mistake you for anything other than a Black. And in those areas where you feel that you do not fit in with the Black family, might I remind you that you are head of the family and therefore it is what you think that matters.’

Sirius merely gaped in surprise – he had never looked at it like this before. Phineas was quite right (words Sirius never in his life thought he would say) – he was the head of the family, even if that was by dint of a lack of other candidates. 

‘And now,’ Phineas continued, ‘I have had enough of making statements of the obvious for one evening. I bid you good night.’ And with that, he got up from the rock where he had been sitting and strolled casually out of the painting. 

Sirius stayed at the kitchen table, lost in thought about the implications of what Phineas had said, until finally he dropped off. He was found asleep, his head resting on his folded arms, by Molly Weasley when she came downstairs to start making breakfast the next morning.

Molly tried to be as quiet as possible as she moved pots and pans and stoked up the fire and filled the teapot from the kettle, but it was not enough: Sirius stirred and then woke up, stretching and yawning. Molly presented him with a cup of tea. ‘Morning, Sirius. What were you doing down here? I thought I saw you going upstairs last night.’

‘I did,’ Sirius told her. ‘But I was having trouble sleeping so I thought I’d come down here and have a cup of tea. I must have dropped off without having the chance to make one.’

Molly nodded understandingly. ‘Well, I’ll get some breakfast ready. And then, when you’re done, I thought we might take a look at…’

Sirius cut her off. ‘Actually, Molly,’ he said, ‘I thought I might take a look at the wards today.’ His conversation with Phineas had opened up a great many possibilities and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about any of them if he was cleaning the house – the wards made a handy excuse for spending at least the morning shut away in the Study.

‘The wards? Is there anything wrong with them? I thought they’d been checked when you first moved in.’ At the first thought that there might be anything wrong with the protection on the house, Molly had started to worry.

‘They were. Mad-Eye and I looked at them and everything seemed fine so far as we could tell. But there’s a detailed diagram in the Study – my father showed it to me years ago. I remembered it last night and thought it might be worth taking a look at. Just to be on the safe side.’

Molly nodded again, sounding reassured. ‘Yes, that seems sensible. Alright, I’ll set the children on something else.’

Later that morning, after one of Molly’s excellent cooked breakfasts – bacon, eggs and toast – Sirius went back up to the study. He began to examine the bookshelves, looking for the documents that his father had shown him all those years ago: one stiff leather document folder and one book bound in black. He finally found them in one of the drawers of what had been his father’s desk and took them over to what had been his father’s armchair by the study fireplace to examine.

The first thing to be looked at was the document folder; Sirius opened it and took out a large sheet of fine parchment. As he touched it, he felt a tingle of magic at the tips of his fingers. It felt very familiar to him, and almost comforting. 

On the parchment was drawn the outline of No. 12 Grimmauld Place, from the side and from above, in thin lines of black ink. From both outlines radiated out the coloured lines of the wards: his father’s charm to make the house unplottable, lines of spells designed to keep out uninvited guests – increasingly unpleasant as the lines got closer to the house – then the muggle-repelling charms at the outer limits. Many of the wards had been in place for nearly two centuries – Sirius remembered his father’s lecture on the depth and subtlety of the protection on the house. Briskly, he tapped each of the coloured lines with his wand, checking that each of the spells was still active. They all responded to him, a little tingle of magic coming each time he touched his wand to one of the lines. When he had checked and confirmed them all, he carefully put the parchment back into its folder. 

Next, Sirius picked up the book and opened it. On the first page inside the cover was written the words ‘The Customs and Laws of Inheritance in the House of Black’. _This_ , he thought, _is not going to be fun_.

After a struggle with the long-winded and dense language, and more than a few moments in which he’d contemplated shouting for Remus to come and help him, Sirius put the book down. So far as he could make it out, Phineas had been quite right when he had said that it was complicated to change the entail. There was absolutely nothing in the book specifically about disinheriting an eldest son in the senior line of the family; even the closest parallel that he had been able to find – which was not even very close – had looked difficult. Ultimately, it seemed, the only way he was going to be able to tell was by looking at a document in the Black family vault at Gringotts, which was not really an option. Although the Goblins might or might not hand him over to the Ministry and the Dementors, it wasn’t worth trying to find out.

But did he need to go to the bank himself? Dedalus Diggle was a solicitor, wasn’t he? Could Sirius give Diggle a piece of parchment with the Black family seal on it, authorising him to examine but not remove the paperwork in the vault? The seal was in his father’s desk drawer, wasn’t it? He’d found it there when he was looking for the documents. Although he’d thought that his grandfather would have had it, he had also heard any number of stories about how magical objects like that could move of their own accord to be with their new owners.

What would the Goblins do with a document with the Black family seal on? They were more likely to challenge the authority of the document and throw Diggle out than hand him over to the Ministry. Still – it was worth a word to Diggle and Bill Weasley when they were next round.

Before he could get any further along that chain of thought, Molly Weasley called and announced that lunch was ready.

Fortunately for Sirius, Bill Weasley turned up that evening after a day at the bank to pass on some information and Sirius was able to grab him for a quick word.

‘What’s the bank’s policy on representatives accessing vaults?’

‘Why do you ask?’ Bill was giving him a very shrewd look. 

‘I was just thinking that it would be easier to buy supplies for this place if we had access to the Black vaults and I can’t very well go myself. We’re going to need a small fortune’s worth of doxycide alone,’ Sirius said easily. 

‘I suppose so,’ said Bill warily. ‘But since you ask, the bank usually accepts a signed or sealed note for access to vaults. Most vaults, that is,’ he added. 

‘Could you do it, or would I need to take on Dedalus as my solicitor?’

‘Probably best that you get Dedalus. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me, especially as I’m an employee of the bank. The Goblins get very strict about things like that. The other thing that you could do,’ Bill added with a glint in his eye, ‘is to send your house-elf. A lot of the older families do that, I’m told.’

‘No,’ said Sirius with a shudder. ‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. I’ll speak to Dedalus.’

***

It was a few days later, late in the evening, when the news arrived from Surrey.

Various members of the Order and the Weasley family were sitting around the big table in the kitchen. Dinner was not long over and everyone was still talking; the table was still covered with plates and dishes and goblets.

‘Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?’ Nymphadora Tonks’s voice, in an urgent hiss, caused everyone in the kitchen to turn to the fireplace. Her head – the hair bright blue – was sat in the flames.

‘Yes, we’re here,’ said Molly Weasley, going over to the fireplace. ‘What’s the problem, dear? I thought someone told me you were on duty at the Auror Office tonight?’

‘I am! But we’ve just had a report in – sounds like a muggle has been attacked by a Dementor. In Surrey. Dudley Dursley – isn’t that Harry’s muggle cousin? The one he lives with?’

Mrs Weasley turned to her children and Hermione. ‘Right you lot, bed,’ she snapped. With her beady eye on them, her kids made their way out of the kitchen with various mumbled protests. Once the door was shut, Lupin turned to the fireplace.

‘How bad is it?’

Tonks looked grave. ‘About as bad as it could be – whoever it is, I think they’ve been Kissed.’

‘Oh, shit!’ To everyone’s surprise, it was Remus Lupin who had sworn aloud.


	4. Chapter 3

The news that Harry’s cousin might have been Kissed by a Dementor hit the kitchen at No. 12 Grimmauld Place like a badly aimed Reductor curse. There was uproar. Everyone seemed to be shouting over each other for a few seconds before order was restored as Molly Weasley’s piercing whistle echoed off the walls.

‘First things first,’ said Molly, looking around at all of them. ‘We need to know if Harry is alright. Who’s on duty down in Surrey tonight?’

‘Mundungus Fletcher,’ said Bill. ‘We had to remind him about it last night.’

‘Someone needs to go and check with Fletcher and find out as much of what happened as possible,’ Remus Lupin said.

‘That should probably be Moody,’ said Tonks, whose head was still watching from the fire. ‘He can manage Fletcher better than anyone except Dumbledore. And Fletcher won’t be able to hide from Moody, even with the cloak.’

‘Good. We’d better call Moody and get him on the scene as soon as possible. Tonks, who’s on duty at the Auror Office tonight? Is there any way that you can get Kingsley to go and investigate whether this actually is Harry’s cousin?’ Lupin hated to involve the Ministry directly, but it would be best if it was through someone who was also a member of the Order.

‘He’s not on duty tonight,’ Tonks said regretfully. ‘I don’t think he can go without it looking suspicious. I’ll just have to send whoever is there and keep a close eye on what they report back.’

‘Okay – thanks, Tonks.’ 

Tonks nodded and disappeared from the fireplace. Immediately they placed a call to Alastor Moody, who said that he would go to Privet Drive directly.

‘I think the only thing left to do now is to tell Dumbledore,’ said Sirius, who had been pacing up and down, a stricken expression on his face. ‘What’s the quickest way to do that?’

‘Probably the portrait of Phineas Nigellus,’ said Lupin.

‘But that’ll mean waking Ron up – the portrait is in the room where he sleeps,’ Molly said.

‘And it’s also assuming that Phineas is even in his portrait here, which he might not be,’ added Sirius. ‘He’s only ever here when he’s _not_ wanted.’

‘Looks like we’ll just have to send Professor Dumbledore a message by Patronus then,’ said Lupin, and he left the kitchen with his wand drawn.

Once everything that could be done from Grimmauld Place had been done, they settled in to wait. Molly made a fresh pot of tea and they all sat in awkward silence around the table to drink it. The only sounds were the crackling of the flames in the fireplace and the ticking of the kitchen clock.

After about ten minutes, the flames in the kitchen fireplace flared green and Dumbledore stepped neatly out, brushing the ash from his robes. 

‘What is going on?’ he asked briskly.

‘Tonks told us that the Aurors had had a report of a Muggle who might have been Kissed by a Dementor – Dudley Dursley,’ Lupin said. ‘Tonks is going to keep an eye on what the Aurors turn up in their investigation and Alastor Moody has gone to Privet Drive to get in touch with Mundungus Fletcher, who was on duty tonight, and see what the situation is there.’

‘Very well,’ said Dumbledore. ‘To the best of my knowledge, Harry is alive, but I think we must wait for Alastor or Mundungus to report. They will be able to provide more details.’ With that, the headmaster sat down with the rest of the Order, apparently perfectly at his ease, and accepted a cup of tea from Molly Weasley with a smile and a quiet ‘Thank you’. Once again the kitchen slipped into an awkward silence as they waited for news.

Not long after, the fire flared green again. This time it was Alastor Moody’s head in the flames, his magical eye spinning wildly as he gave his report. 

‘I’m using the fireplace at Arabella Figg’s place,’ he announced. ‘I’ve been to Potter’s relatives’ place and had a good look around. I can’t find Fletcher, but there’s no sign of anything amiss as far as I can tell. The house is dark, apart from one light on at the back. And I can only see one person in the place. No idea if it’s Potter or not.’

‘What do you suppose happened to Mundungus, Alastor?’ Dumbledore had leaned towards the fireplace but asked the question perfectly calmly.

‘No idea, Albus,’ Moody told him. ‘I’ve done all the standard Auror scanning spells around the house but there’s no sign of any magic having been done there. If anyone who wasn’t a Muggle had been here, I’d expect there to be some traces. I’ll do another sweep around the area just to be sure when I’m done here.’

‘Thank you, Alastor.’ Dumbledore sat back down in his chair and Moody’s head disappeared from the fireplace. But it wasn’t long before he was back.

‘I’ve found Fletcher, at least,’ Moody announced grimly. ‘He reappeared while I was here reporting in. At first he tried to spin me some nonsense story that he’d been here the whole time but I eventually got him to admit that he’d been away on some dodgy business deal for most of the time he was supposed to be on duty tonight. Something to do with some stolen cauldrons – I didn’t ask for details or I’d have been obliged to report him.’

There was a great deal of muttering in the kitchen at that news. Molly Weasley in particular looked absolutely furious.

‘Tell Mundungus that I shall want to see him tomorrow,’ said Dumbledore firmly. Moody nodded.

‘He’s watching the house now. I told him that if he wasn’t there when I came back, I’d track him down and curse him myself. Since I’m here now, I might as well relieve Fletcher once we’re done here and do another sweep of the area.’

‘Thank you, Alastor,’ said Dumbledore. ‘It is imperative that we establish that Harry is safe and well before we do anything else.’ Moody’s head nodded and then disappeared from the flames again.

‘What can Mundungus have been _thinking_?’ Lupin asked.

‘This is exactly what comes of trusting a criminal! He has absolutely no sense of responsibility whatsoever…’ Molly Weasley was absolutely livid.

‘Come, Molly,’ Dumbledore said calmingly. ‘Mundungus has a valuable contribution to make to the Order.’

‘I’m sure he does, but does that mean entrusting him with one of the most important jobs in the Order when his priority is clearly his sleazy business dealings?’ 

‘Molly, I trust Mundungus in the same way that I would trust any of the rest of you.’ Dumbledore still spoke calmly but with an authority that ended the discussion. Molly looked as though she still wanted to argue but Arthur put his hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear and she subsided.

By the time that Alastor Moody reported back again to confirm that all was apparently well in Little Whinging, Tonks had also reported from the Auror Office. 

‘Gawain Robards and John Dawlish went over to the hospital,’ Tonks told them from the fireplace. ‘They discreetly did some diagnostic spells on the Muggle and it looks as though it was a Dementor attack. They’ve also confirmed that it is Harry’s family – he’s listed with the hospital as Dudley Dursley, living at No. 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging. Apparently, his mother and father – Harry’s aunt and uncle – are at the hospital. Robards and Dawlish are back at the Ministry now and it looks as though they’re going to recommend that Dudley Dursley is taken to St Mungo’s to be looked after and his parents are Obliviated.’

‘We shall have to see if some other solution can be found,’ said Dumbledore heavily. ‘Vernon and Petunia Dursley are already aware of the Magical world. In addition to which, they cannot be Obliviated if there is any chance that it will affect Harry, as I fear that it almost certainly would.’ He turned to Tonks. ‘Nymphadora, does the report mention Harry at all?’

‘It doesn’t. And Professor, please don’t call me…’

‘Very well. What I think we will have to do is make sure that someone is made aware by means of the paperwork that Harry is also resident at Privet Drive and that the Ministry must be careful in how it handles this.’

‘Isn’t that a trifle… haphazard, Professor Dumbledore?’ Tonks posed the question carefully.

‘Alas, yes,’ Dumbledore said with a heavy sigh. ‘However, it is the only option as things currently stand. If I intervene directly with Cornelius, it might do more harm than good, given the Minister’s attitude towards me of late.’

Thankfully for the Order, Moody was able to confirm that Harry was apparently alive and well. ‘I was looking around the back of the house,’ Moody said, ‘and I saw him – or someone who looks like him – looking out of an open window.’

***

Remus Lupin made his way slowly through the corridors of Frimley Park Hospital. He had been sent to try and find out from Vernon and Petunia Dursley how their son might have been attacked by a Dementor of Azkaban. He eventually found them sitting in a waiting area, flicking through magazines and anxiously looking up at the clock on the wall, at the nurses’ station and at every doctor who walked through.

He walked over.

‘Excuse me, Mr and Mrs Dursley. May I have a word?’

Vernon looked up from the magazine he had been scanning and narrowed his eyes at Lupin. ‘Who are you? You don’t look like a doctor.’

‘I’m not. My name is Remus Lupin.’ He turned to Petunia. ‘I was at school with James and Lily,’ he said.

There was a hissing intake of breath and Petunia looked up at him. ‘What do you want?’

Her face, Remus noticed, had visible tear tracks running down it.

‘I want to talk to you about your son,’ he began but was not allowed to get any further.

‘Do you mean what happened to Dudders was down to one of … _your lot_?’ It was Petunia that asked the question, her voice laced with anger.

‘Not quite,’ Lupin said. ‘We think he was attacked by Dementors, which are…’

‘I know what they are,’ said Petunia. ‘They guard Azkaban. I heard _her_ discussing them with that boy.’

Lupin felt a wave of dislike coursing through him at the tone in which Petunia referred to her sister. But he forced himself to stay polite as he spoke. ‘Yes, that’s right. Now, we’re still not sure what a Dementor might have been doing in Little Whinging…’

‘It was here for Potter, wasn’t it?’ It was Vernon who asked the question, looking as though he had just solved a puzzle.

‘Well, as I say, we don’t know, but…’

‘See here, Lupus, or whatever your name is,’ Vernon said, interrupting Remus again, ‘if Potter is the one responsible for my boy being in there, stuck full of tubes, I don’t want him in the house!’

‘But Mr Dursley,’ Remus said, trying to remain as polite as possible, ‘Harry cannot have been responsible…’

Vernon cut him off abruptly. ‘These Dementoids are magical, aren’t they? Well, Potter is the only connection to… all _that_ in Little Whinging. Besides, I should have known that he was up to something, all that time alone in his room. That must be why they were looking for him! He has to go!’

Since Vernon Dursley was starting to turn a rather alarming shade of purple, Remus decided to change tack and turned to Petunia. ‘Petunia, please. This is Lily’s child we’re talking about. You can’t just…’

‘No,’ Petunia said, her voice strangely calm. ‘Vernon is right. The boy has to go. He would only be a reminder of what happened to Dudders.’

‘I shall pass on the message,’ said Remus and got up to walk away.

***

When Remus got back to Grimmauld Place after visiting the hospital, he went straight to see Dumbledore. When he was told that Harry’s aunt and uncle had refused to allow him to stay at the house, Dumbledore had sighed heavily and lowered his head for a few long minutes of silence. When he looked up again, he said in a resigned voice, ‘Very well. I take it Harry’s aunt and uncle are remaining at the hospital for the time being?

‘Yes, I believe so,’ Remus said.

‘Good. That gives us time to get ready to bring Harry here before Vernon and Petunia Dursley return to Privet Drive.’ 

_Before the situation gets any further out of our control_ , Remus thought.

Planning to bring Harry to Grimmauld Place involved bringing in Mad-Eye Moody and a great many maps of Little Whinging and plotting out ways of getting from Surrey to London without attracting attention from either the Death Eaters or the Ministry.

Eventually, the plan was drawn up, and so was the list of people who would be going. There had been no shortage of volunteers to go and rescue Harry from Little Whinging, which was good because, so far as Remus could tell, Moody was planning for every eventuality. Remus himself was going, of course, as someone who Harry knew. 

Remus had expected to have to tell Sirius that he wouldn’t be able to come along, but to his surprise, Sirius had been spending a lot of his time shut away in the study. He wasn’t sure what exactly his old friend was up to, although he was definitely suspicious. 

The day they were due to travel to Little Whinging, Remus decided that enough was enough – Sirius spending all his time alone had never boded well. He went up to the first floor and knocked on the study door. ‘Padfoot! Are you in there?’

The door opened and Sirius looked out. ‘What’s up, Moony?’

‘What are you up to in there, Padfoot?’

Sirius grinned at him. ‘Suspicious, are we?’

‘Frankly, yes! You’ve been acting very oddly the past few days, spending your time holed up in the study. You’ve even been ignoring Snape!’

‘I’ve not been alone,’ said Sirius. ‘I’ve seen Dedalus Diggle for a start. And I thought you wanted me to ignore Snape?’ Sirius sounded politely puzzled but there was a glint to his eye that was very reminiscent of Hogwarts days.

‘I do! But this is frankly weird. And what does Dedalus have to do with it?’

‘Don’t worry, Moony – it’s just that I have a plan, that’s all. And it’s a plan that I need to move a bit faster now that Harry’s coming to stay.’

‘Now I’m definitely worried. Are you going to tell me what this plan is? Because you remember what used to happen at school when you tried to come up with plans by yourself…’

‘Alright, come in.’ Sirius opened the door more widely and let Remus in. He looked around the room curiously. It was a lot cleaner inside the study than it was outside: the bookshelves had been dusted and the windows cleaned. The desk too had been dusted, so far as Remus could see: most of the surface was covered with parchment. 

Remus sat down in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. ‘What’s going on, Padfoot?’ 

Sirius sat down in the armchair opposite Remus. ‘Well, a couple of nights ago, I couldn’t sleep and was on my way down to the kitchen to get a cup of tea or something but I ended up having a conversation with Phineas Nigellus.’

‘Oh, Merlin.’ Remus had met the snide portrait when they had first come to the house, and could only imagine what he might have had to say to Sirius.

‘Actually, he wasn’t that bad,’ said Sirius. ‘He just… encouraged me to think a bit differently about how to get what I want.’

‘Which is…?’

‘Clear my name and keep Harry safe.’

Remus nodded. ‘Surprisingly sensible.’

‘Although if I could also find a way to not have to see Snivellus ever again, I wouldn’t object.’ 

Remus relaxed a little. That was definitely a lot more like the Sirius he was familiar with.

‘So, what’s your plan, dare I ask?’

‘Well, I haven’t got much beyond the first part, which is to try and find out what other Black family assets I have access to.’

‘You mean money?’

‘Partly that, because I know I’m going to need resources if I’m going to persuade Fudge to do anything about my case. But there’s also going to be property, and it would be good to be able to find somewhere that’s safe where I can take Harry.’

‘Dumbledore might not like that,’ Remus said in a warning tone. ‘I have the feeling that he wants to keep his eye on Harry one way or another.’

‘Well, I’ve got news for the Professor,’ said Sirius briskly. ‘I’m Harry’s legal guardian, not him.’

***

At dusk, the rescue mission Apparated from Grimmauld Place to Arabella Figg’s back garden in Privet Drive. Arabella was waiting to greet them at the back door, with what Lupin recognised as a part-kneazle cat by her feet.

From her living room, which was filled with many more cats, several part-kneazle, the Order members peeked out from behind the net curtains to examine the dark and apparently unoccupied house opposite.

‘Are you sure there’s someone there?’ Hestia Jones asked hesitantly after looking out for several minutes and seeing so signs of life.

‘Of course I am!’ Moody barked, obviously offended that someone had questioned him, and Hestia shrank back a little. His magical eye spun around and focused on the house. ‘Potter’s in the back of the house, upstairs.’

Privet Drive stood still and quiet, except for the occasional car, as the summer dusk darkened to evening. 

When the time came, Tonks and Shacklebolt slipped out into Arabella Figg’s front garden, wands at the ready, and waited there in the cover of the hedge, watching. As the moon rose, the rest of the rescue mission left the house and crossed the road in small groups, covered by Tonks and Shacklebolt, assembling in the Dursleys’ front garden. A quick unlocking charm and the front door of No. 4 Privet Drive swung silently open. 

Inside, the house was practically silent. The only sound that any of the witches and wizards clustered together in the dark hall could hear was the ticking of a clock. They gathered quietly at the foot of the stairs, where Moody was just about to order a group to head upstairs. Then they heard soft footsteps on the landing upstairs and a slender, shadowy figure appeared at the head of the stairs. There was just enough light in the house for Lupin to identify the figure.

It was Harry.


	5. Chapter 4

A few days after he had arrived at Privet Drive for the summer, Harry was walking along the landing towards his room with a small plate of food – leftovers from a previous night’s dinner. After the first evening back at No. 4, it was obvious to Harry that sitting down for meals with the Dursleys was more contact than any of them wanted. Fortunately, Dudley had been spending most of his evenings out with his gang. Harry had overheard enough of Dudley’s conversations through the wall that divided their bedrooms to understand that Dudley was spending his time drinking cheap cider in the little park off Magnolia Road.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had both been at dinner that first night, however, and although both of them had tried as hard as they could to ignore Harry (and Harry had happily returned the favour), he could see them twitching or scowling at the least movement he made, even drinking from a glass of water.

That first night back at Privet Drive, he had slept poorly, his night disturbed by dreams of Cedric Diggory’s murder in the graveyard at Little Hangleton. He had gone back to the graveyard in his dreams every night thereafter. And, almost as disturbingly, he had also started to dream about a corridor with a door at the end of it.

Thanks to his disturbed sleep patterns, Harry started keeping odd hours. Instead of eating with the Dursleys, he would come down after they had eaten and help himself from the fridge. He had decided not to try and push his luck and take too much. So far nothing had been said, which was a great relief. Clearly Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia agreed that this was a good compromise.

Harry didn’t go out much. When he did, it was usually early in the morning, to get some fresh air and walk around the park while the Dursleys were still asleep. If he timed things correctly and ate breakfast before he left, he could still be out when Uncle Vernon left for work and avoid Aunt Petunia as well. Otherwise, he spent time in his room, writing letters to Padma, to Ron and to Hermione and making a start on his holiday homework.

Padma, he knew from her letters, had made a start on her homework almost straight away, as had Hermione. It seemed pretty obvious to Harry that even if Padma might not be impressed by him starting early as well, she definitely wouldn’t be impressed by him doing it all at the last minute, like Ron. And he definitely wanted to impress Padma.

He knew that Ron would likely be horrified at the thought of doing homework. But being realistic about it, Harry also knew that Ron had options available to him that Harry didn’t. If Harry wanted contact with the magical world – where he belonged – then he didn’t have many choices. 

Hermione had said that she was going on holiday about a week or so after the start of the summer break. Apparently she and her parents had decided to take Viktor Krum up on his offer to come and stay with him over the summer. One day, an owl had arrived from Bulgaria with a letter from Hermione, accompanied by another one from Krum. Krum’s handwriting, Harry noted, was surprisingly neat. He had also had a letter from Fleur Delacour, saying that she was planning to move to London so that she could look for a job and improve her English.

He pushed open the door to the smallest bedroom and almost dropped his plate of food. Perched on the end of his bed was the last thing that he would have expected to see in Little Whinging: a phoenix. 

At first, Harry wondered if it was Fawkes, the phoenix who lived in Professor Dumbledore’s office and who had wept onto his wounds in the Chamber of Secrets and after he had witnessed Voldemort’s return in the graveyard at Little Hangleton. But the more he looked at the bird, the more he began to suspect that this was not Fawkes but a different phoenix. 

Harry was still standing in the doorway of his room, staring, when he heard Uncle Vernon speak to Aunt Petunia and he remembered where he was. Uncle Vernon barely tolerated owls in the house – he was not likely to take kindly to a phoenix. As if that were not enough to throw Vernon into a rage, he might also be confronted with evidence of Harry helping himself from the fridge. Harry doubted the new arrangement would survive if the Dursleys actually saw him doing it. 

He quickly walked into the room and closed the door behind him, then put the plate of food down on the desk. The phoenix watched him quizzically, its head tilted slightly to one side. He was turning to take another look at the magical bird when he stubbed his toe against something unexpected: a wooden chest. 

The chest was clearly old – the wood was dark with age, wrapped around with heavy iron bands. Sitting on top of it was a sealed parchment scroll. Angrily, Harry snatched the scroll up, his foot still aching. He broke open the seal and started to read, and his jaw dropped as he read the archaic handwriting. _What is this?_

> Dear Mr Potter,
> 
> Forgive my writing to you out of the blue. I understand from Albus Dumbledore that you are familiar with my name and work, though. I am Nicolas Flamel. 
> 
> I heard, through contacts of my own, your account of the return of the wizard calling himself Lord Voldemort and having been to the graveyard, I know you to be telling the truth. I have therefore taken it upon myself to send to you some materials that I hope might be useful. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to write – your owl will be able to find me.
> 
> With cordial best wishes,
> 
> N. Flam.

Harry looked at the letter in disbelief. His first thought was, _Isn’t he dead? I thought Flamel was dead._ Dumbledore had, after all, told him, in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, at the end of his First Year, that both Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel would die after the Philosopher’s Stone was destroyed. So how could this be the real Nicolas Flamel? And if it was not Flamel, who was it?

The phoenix was still perched on the end of the bed, watching him, so Harry said to it, ‘Would you mind carrying a message for me?’

It responded with a brief chirrup, which Harry took to mean Yes. He rummaged around on his desk for a quill and a fresh piece of parchment and wrote, ‘Albus Dumbledore told me that you were dead. How do I know this is genuinely you?’ He folded up the parchment and gave it to the phoenix, which disappeared with a flash of flame.

Until the phoenix came back, Harry decided that he would ignore the chest and instead continue with his Potions essay for Snape, which he had started early in order to get it over and done with. But he kept looking up from his roll of parchment and textbooks to the chest or to see if the phoenix had come back.

When it did come back, it was getting dark. The phoenix dropped something on Harry’s desk that made a clunking sound when it hit. Harry quickly picked it up – it seemed to be a piece of parchment wrapped around something small and hard. He eagerly unwrapped the parchment and a golden ring fell out. Harry picked it up and looked at it, holding it in the palm of his hand. He could feel a faint tingling in his hand where it rested. The ring looked like a signet ring, with a strange sign incised into it. 

He put the ring down carefully on his desk and looked at the piece of parchment. It was his own letter, with the words, ‘The enclosed should suffice to prove my identity’ written below it in the same archaic handwriting as was on the letter that had come with the chest.

_Okay,_ he thought. _This is obviously supposed to be something that’s connected to Flamel. But how can I check that’s true?_

An idea struck him. He got up and went over to his trunk and started rummaging around in it, eventually pulling out his copy of Bathilda Bagshot’s A History of Magic. He wasn’t sure he had even opened the book since he had found Hedwig’s name in it, way back before he had started First Year. He went to the back and began leafing through the index, looking for ‘Flamel’. 

When he found the list of entries for the famous alchemist, he began checking the pages, leafing quickly through the thick book. Eventually he found what he was looking for. ‘As a discrete sign that he had successfully created the Philosopher’s Stone, Flamel wore a ring fashioned from gold that he had made using the stone. Some of those fortunate enough to have met Mr Flamel have reported that the ring is engraved with an alchemical symbol. It is believed that because of the power of the stone, the metal is imbued with a certain magical power.’

Harry put down the book then picked the ring back up and examined it again. It was worn – which was only to be expected, since it was probably centuries old – but seemed to show three circles linked together. Was that an alchemical symbol? Harry didn’t know. He went back to take another look at Bathilda Bagshot’s book, which was lying open on his bed. In a section on Flamel and the Philosopher’s Stone, it said, ‘Although very little is known about the true Philosopher’s Stone, it is generally accepted that to create the stone, three stones must be created and then combined.’

With a sudden leap of intuition, Harry knew that this was genuinely Nicolas Flamel’s ring, that was made of gold created by the Philosopher’s Stone. Which meant that the phoenix must be Nicolas Flamel’s and that the chest must be from him.

Harry put the ring down on his desk and eagerly went over to the chest to see what the famous alchemist had sent him. He pushed open the top and felt a moment of disappointment: it seemed to be packed full of books.

He went and collapsed onto the bed. _Books._ But what had he expected? Something that he could use to fight Voldemort, he supposed. Harry allowed himself a moment to remember what it had been like to face Voldemort – the feeling of helplessness and his utter conviction that it had been luck and the intervention of others that had saved his life. 

On the other hand, stuck in Privet Drive, effectively in isolation from the magical world, forbidden from using his wand, what else was he going to do to prepare for the next time he came face to face with Voldemort? Voldemort was, after all, clearly familiar with magics that he, Harry, had never heard of.

He went back to the chest, not relishing the thought of spending the summer reading dusty old books, even if they were magical and it was the best way for him to actually do something useful over the holiday. He picked up the first book he saw from the top of the chest and, flopping back onto his bed, began to examine it. The book was smaller and thinner than any of his school books, bound in a faded blue cloth that reminded Harry of a scruffy old book he had once seen in the public library. 

When he opened it, he gave a delighted grin. The title read Silent Self-Defense. _This,_ he thought, _might actually be interesting after all._ As he read through the first few chapters, Harry realised that it was about how to use runes and written charms for protection. There was a charm that could be written along the edges of a piece of parchment that prevented anyone except the intended recipient from reading it; or an inscription that magically locked a trunk or a door. Then there were the charms that could be worn on the person. When he read the charm that made the carrier invisible, Harry remembered what Dumbledore had said to him in his first year, about not needing a cloak to become invisible.

***

As the summer holidays went on, Harry was reading more and more of the books from the chest that Nicolas Flamel had sent him. In one of them, a translation that Flamel himself had apparently made, he had found some really useful points that he had added to his Potions essay. He was hoping that Snape wouldn’t assume that he had just made it up and put him in detention. There was a strange and very unsettling book about possession and the various ways it might be carried out. After the first few pages, Harry had decided that he would only read that one during daylight. Much more useful was a book about duelling which had apparently been written by a Russian wizard who had been a duelling champion. In the park, Harry had found a stick that was about the right length and weight to use as a substitute for his wand when practicing the stances and techniques that the book described.

About a week after the arrival of the chest, Harry found the book that would be the most useful to him. Flamel’s phoenix had appeared several times with letters from the alchemist, and Harry had replied to one of them asking if there was anything that covered dreams. The response to that question had been a recommendation to look at something called The Magic of the Mind. There had also been a warning that the book was considered dark magic of a sort, and that he should be careful who he told about it.

Although The Magic of the Mind hadn’t had a chapter dealing particularly with dreams of the kind that Harry had been suffering, he had found plenty that was useful. He had especially taken notes on something called Occlumency which had been good for dealing with the nightmares he had been having about the Little Hangleton graveyard and the murder of Cedric. The author had described the proper practice of Occlumency as being like a cabinet where thoughts were contained in drawers and could be shut away or taken out and examined at will. 

One warm summer evening, Harry had just sent Hedwig away with a long letter to Padma, who had been asking questions about some of the books Harry had mentioned from Flamel’s chest. As the owl soared away over the neighbours’ roof, he heard the sound of the phone from downstairs.

Apart from thinking that it was late for someone to be ringing, he paid it no heed but was surprised when he abruptly heard the television being turned off, followed closely by the sound of the front door opening and closing and then the sound of the car from outside. Harry assumed that it was just Uncle Vernon going out to pick Dudley up from the house of one of his gang. He did his Occlumency practice and then started to read one of Flamel’s books about Potions theory, sure that this would send him to sleep.

The car was still missing from the driveway in the morning when Harry went down to the living room and looked out. Not quite sure what was happening, he went to the kitchen and helped himself to breakfast from the fridge as usual and then went back up to his room. 

It was only when lunchtime came and went without there being sight or sound of any of the Dursleys that Harry started to become a little concerned. Although, generally speaking, a lack of the Dursleys had always been a good thing so far as Harry was concerned, this was a little worrying. But on the other hand, he was sure that they would be back before too long, if only to make sure that he hadn’t done any damage to the house. 

No. 4 Privet Drive remained silent and still when Harry went down to the kitchen to get some dinner. He decided that if the Dursleys still weren’t back tomorrow, he would write a note to Sirius and let him know what the situation was. 

In the morning, the Dursleys were still away. When Hedwig arrived back, Harry sent the snowy owl back out with his message to his godfather. The next morning, Hedwig had come back with a message from Sirius: ‘We think that something has happened to Dudley. Stay in the house and let me know if anything happens.’

Harry had never considered that anything might happen to his cousin. Although Dudley had never failed to make Harry’s life miserable given the chance, it was difficult – almost impossible – to imagine life without him and Harry felt a wave of remorse that he and Dudley might never have a better relationship.

It was the evening of the next day, when Harry was reading on his bed as the light faded, that he heard movement downstairs. His first thought was that the Dursleys had come back, but then he realised that whoever was downstairs was trying to be quiet, which the Dursleys never did. So who was it? A burglar? Death Eaters?

His heart racing, Harry gripped his wand and stood up, ready to investigate. 

He inched his way to the door, trying to make as little noise as possible, then slowly eased it open and moved out onto the landing, his wand held at the ready.

As he moved along the landing, he could see figures standing at the bottom of the stairs. Harry raised his wand. ‘Lumos,’ he muttered and a bright beam of light shone out of the end of the wand. Harry could see Mad-Eye Moody, who was supposed to have taught Defence Against the Dark Arts the previous year at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to the wonderful Noelle (la_topolina) for beta reading this chapter, and also the previous one!


End file.
